


A Simple Misunderstanding

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Caring Thranduil, Elf Culture & Customs, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Established Relationship, Injury, Injury Recovery, Jealous Thranduil, Jealousy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Misunderstandings, Rough Sex, Soul Bond, Teasing, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 00:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Bard doesn't understand the full-extent of the soul bond he shares with Thranduil. Thranduil doesn't understand how to use his words. A simple misunderstanding ensues.





	A Simple Misunderstanding

"T-Thran..." Bard splutters as Thranduil slams him into the nearest wall so hard he swears he can see stars. His hands frantically scrabble for purchase as he is hoisted into the air, his legs circling round the Elvenking's svelte waist, his dirt-encrusted boots mucking up his impossibly expensive robes as they dig deep into the small of his back.

"Isn't this what you wanted, meleth nin?" Thranduil asks, the term of endearment, usually so sweet upon his lips, now dripping with poorly concealed malice. The King of Dale opens his mouth to reply, but his rebuttal is quickly overcome by a moan as Thranduil rocks their hips together. "Letting that two-bit tramp climb all over you, as if you were a bloody tree..." his beautiful blue eyes are like two chunks of ice.

"I...shit, Thran...y-you can't-," blonde hair tickles his neck as the Elvenking swoops down, taking the shell of his ear between his teeth and tugging sharply. Bard keens, bucking against him with such strength he actually manages to slide a few centimeters down the wall. "This isn't fair! How am I supposed to defend myself when you...oh  _fuck_ , yes, right there! J-Just like that..."

Thranduil's warm breath washes over him, causing his cheeks to turn ruddy beneath his stubble. "You should know by now that I don't play fair." Though he could not see his face, he could almost  _feel_ the smug bastard's smile. "Besides, you forfeit the right to complain when you let her touch you..." he croons, fingers dancing lightly over Bard's hyper-sensitive skin.

Thranduil cants his hips foreward, pinning Bard's hips to the wall--he can feel the dragonslayer's cock straining against the rough material of his breeches, begging for friction that, under any other circumstances, Thranduil would have been more than happy to provide. But this is a punishment, no, a  _reminder_ that everything Bard has, everything that Bard  _is_ , belongs to Thranduil and Thranduil alone. Their bond is so much deeper than the promise of words which shall one day be forgotten, sealed with a piece of jewelry that holds little value beyond that of sentiment. Their very souls are bonded, tethered together so completely so that if one is hurt, so to is the other, and if one rejoices, so to does the other. It is, at times, impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. In other words, it is not something that can merely be cast aside on a whim--it is a committment that will last long beyond Bard's own lifetime, and up until a few hours ago, he'd thought that his husband had understood the gravity of that.

He'd  _felt_ the whore's hands gliding upon his husband's skin as if they were upon his own. It had felt painful,  _wrong_ \--like orcish poison slowly carving its way through his bloodstream, rotting away at his internal organs and turning his blood black. He'd felt dizzy, and when his vision began swimming, it took longer than he cared to admit to realize that it was because tears were brimming in his eyes and, much to his horror, pouring down his cheeks. Legolas had been horrified, unable to remember a time he'd seen his father weep so openly since the death of his mother. He'd abandoned his council in the middle of a relatively important meeting--though what they'd  _actually_ been discussing for the last hour and a half, he couldn't have said--to track down his husband. Bard was in their bedchamber, sans shirt and splayed across the linens as if he were inviting Thranduil to come and ravish him...he smiled at Thranduil sleepily, and in the flickering candlelight the Elvenking noticed, for the first time, that Bard's chest was glistening with oil...

Bard mewls as Thranduil begins to nip a trail from his ear, down along the curve of his chin. His tongue sneaks out, laving at Bard's slightly chapped lips, drawing away just as Bard looked to draw him into a kiss. "T-Thran... _please_..." 

He tries to rut into Thranduil's infuriatingly still hips, but a hand keeps him pressed taut against the wall. "You have  _betrayed_ me, Bard. What reason do I have to show you mercy?" He coos, before biting down upon Bard's pulse-point hard enough that blood, hot and think, gushes to the surface and stains his lips a beautiful ruby red. "You are lucky that I am not having your head served up on a silver platter."

 _"Shit..."_ the sight of his blood upon Thranduil's lips should  _definitely_ not be that hot. "Thran, I didn't... _ungh_...I didn't  _b-betray_ you."

"Do not presume to lie to me." A shiver chases down Bard's spine, "I can  _smell_ her wretched stench upon your skin."

"I'm not...I'm not  _lying_." The last word comes out as more of a breathless moan as Thranduil continues to mark him, leaving a trail of large, purplish-blue love-bites behind for all to see. "I swear to you, darlin', what you're smelling is the witch hazel. The healer had warned me that it'll smell something fierce, but there's no better remedy for bruising-,"

Thranduil practically  _drops_ him in his haste to put as much distance between their bodies as possible. "Bruising?" He asks, suddenly sounding like a small child who'd broken some priceless artifact after having been told one-thousand and one times not to play ball inside,

Bard smiles softly and nods, gently rapping his chest directly overtop of a fist-sized bruise that had formed around a deceptively small, yet equally angry-looking wound. "Yeah. That's what tends to happen when you get shot in the chest with an arrow at point-blank range. The wound's mostly healed-up, but the bruise is looking rather unsightly, and so I asked the healer if she had anything for it."

The speed with which Thranduil went from righteous fury to absolute despondency should be alarming, but Bard is more concerned by the fact that his mate is caught somewhere between screaming and sobbing. "How could I have forgotten that you were injured?!" He wails.

Quickly, Thranduil begins to check over him, ensuring that his rough treatment did not somehow exacerbate the bowman's injuries. Bard wants to reassure him that he is fine, to remind him that he was very much consenting to Thranduil's earlier treatment and that, if anything, he would very much enjoy going back to being manhandled by the Elvenking. But he can tell that his love is practically sick with worry, his beautiful blue eyes filled with self-deprication. His large hands glance over each and every part of Bard's body, as if seeking silent assurance that all is well...one of those hands gleans over Bard's hip, and he takes that as his opening, stepping forward and sweeping the larger body into his arms and hugging him so tight it is any wonder he can draw air. His chest aches for more than just the pressure atop his bruise. Thranduil struggles weakly in his arms, before eventually conceding, burying his face in the crook of the bowman's neck and inhaling his scent so deeply his lungs  _burned_. Bard smooths a hand over his back, a familiar burning behind his eyes as Thranduil soaks his neck in tears...

"The healer had to poke and prod and  _feel_ around my wound." Bard says. He winces a bit, remembering how she'd forcefully manipulated his wounded flesh beneath her fingers. "It was not pleasurable in the least--more a necessary evil." He adds, after a moment of consideration.

Thranduil sniffles, "I could feel her hands upon you. I...I thought..." he swallows hard, shaking his head. "I am a fool."

Bard cocks his head to the side, "You could... _feel_ her?" He asks. The inner-machinations of an elven soul bond are still painfully new to him, and there is much he still doesn't understand, even after all this time. Thranduil, for the most part, is a patient teacher.

"Whenever you feel something particularly strongly, like happiness, fear, pain..." he swallows hard, " _arousal_...the feeling is transmitted through our bond. At least, until you learn how to filter what comes through and what doesn't." He says, looking at Bard a little uncertainly. And then, he confessed softly, "When I first felt her touch you, I'd thought the pain I felt was my own. I-I'd thought that you were..."

When it becomes apparent that Thranduil is not going to finish his thought, Bard chimes in with a helpful, soft, "You thought that I was enjoying it." There is no malice in his tone, only a sort of soft understanding. He wipes Thranduil's tears away with the pad of his thumb.

"Bard, I am so very sorry-," Bard presses a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Do not apologize for what is not your fault, darlin'. Out of context, I'm sure that that looked really bad." Thranduil opens his mouth to retort, but Bard hurriedly cuts him off. "And don't be giving me that bull about how you should've known. You're not a mind-reader, Thran. You came to the conclusion you did based off of the information you had-,"

Thranduil stares up at him with watery eyes, "I  _hurt_ you."

Bard smirks, "Yes," he begins walking, backing the Elvenking up until he falls atop their bed in a graceless heap. Not wasting any time, he climbs onto Thranduil's waist, slotting their fully-clothed cocks together and grinding his his down in a slow, languid circle. Despite the gravity of their little heart-to-heart, his cock is still straining in his breeches. "And as you can see, I enjoyed it  _very_ much."

"B-Bard-," Thranduil rasps, his tone still, frustratingly, colored with worry. 

Bard rolls his eyes, "Do me a favor, darlin'," he leans down, pressing his lips to the top of one pointed ear. "Stop thinking and just _feel_."

Bard leans down, capturing the Elvenking's slightly parted lips in a bruising kiss. Thranduil's body goes stiff in all the wrong ways and for a moment, Bard is worried that his husband is bound and determined to mope for the rest of the night...but then Thranduil's long, slender fingers twine in his dark hair and draw him impossibly closer, and suddenly the room is spinning as Thranduil switches their positions so that he is lying flat on his back with a gorgeous, ancient elf taking up residence between his thighs. Just as he begins to feel the familiar burn of his lungs reminding him that breathing, no matter how inconvenient, is a necessity and not a choice, Thranduil draws back just far enough to allow room for his fingers to begin working on the fastenings on his breeches. Within seconds, the pressure upon his manhood vanishes as Thranduil tugs the fabric down...down...he doesn't even bother to take them off all the way, though whether this is because of laziness or a distinct lack of desire to take off Bard's hunting boots, Bard is not sure.

And it is not long before he simply doesn't  _care_ \--Thranduil reaches into his robes and pulls out a small vial of oil, which he uses to liberally coat his fingers. Bard watches through half-lidded eyes as Thranduil's hand disappears between his legs, a slight pressure against his tight pucker the only warning he receives before so, so slowly a finger wiggles its way into his depths. It has been so long,  _too_ long since he and Thranduil have been intimate like this, and he can feel it in the accompanying burn as his body slowly stretches to accomodate the intrusion. But Thranduil is gentle--so different than he had been a minute ago--as he works him open with the slow, steady precision of one whose dedicated themselves to learning each and every pleasurable quirk their lover's body possesses. Thranduil is in his element here, patiently working his finger in and out of Bard's tight heat until the bowman is rocking back to meet his thrusts, barely coherent moans falling from his kiss-swollen lips as he begs for another finger that the Elvenking is all too happy to provide.

Interestingly enough, the second finger is easier than the first, and even if there  _was_ a burn, the minute that Thranduil crooks his fingers and thrusts  _up_ , Bard is wont to feel anything other that an overwhelming desire to cum. Bard leans forward, puckering his lips, and Thranduil is more than happy to meet him halfway, capturing his lips in a much sweeter kiss as his fingers continue to piston in and out of Bard's channel. His fingers squelch obscenely as Bard's heat hungrily sucks them in, desperate for something longer, thicker...he throws his head back, infinitely grateful for the pillow behind his head instead of the wall, groaning as Thranduil sank the third and final finger into his tight, hot depths. It hurts a bit, but its nothing that he cannot handle, and the pain is quickly swallowed by pleasure as those sinfully long fingers begin to abuse that precious little nub that has him seeing  _stars_. Bard's cock is leaking a steady stream of pre onto his belly and as Thranduil breaks their kiss to lap at the blissfully-achey line of love bites he made earlier, Bard thinks he might be able to cum untouched.

Which would be fantastic, aside from the fact that that was decidedly  _not_ what he wanted. "Thran... _ungh_ , T-Thran," with some difficulty, he is able to wrap his hand around Thranduil's wrist. "Stop a second, yeah?"

Thranduil's face immediately contorts in concern, "What's the matter? Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Frantically, he begins searching for non-existent injuries. When Bard's hand nimbly begins undoing the various latches on the Elvenking's robe, his thick, dark brows knot together in confusion. "What're you doing?"

Bard rolls his eyes, "For a being so ancient, you can certainly be  _dense_." He sighs, "As delightful as your fingers are, I was thinking we might try something else. I want to cum on your cock, while you fuck me so deep into the mattress I walk funny for the next week."

"Are you sure that you're up for that?" Thranduil asks, blue eyes flickering down to Bard's still incredibly angry looking bruise.

"I was up for you fucking me through the wall about twenty minutes ago." Bard reminds him patiently. "This... _This_ will be infinitely more comfortable and decidedly no less wanted." He says.

Thranduil hesitates for a moment, before slipping his silver robe from his shoulders and allowing it to fall in a puddle at his feet. His leggings are noticeably tented, the grayish material stained almost black with pre. He pulls them down just far enough to free his aching length--taking himself in hand, he pours a copious amount of oil onto his girth and stokes himself a few times to ensure it is applied evenly. Thranduil meets his eyes once more, asking for permission one final time, and Bard nods, once, before his eyes slide closed and his head falls back as the blunt head of Thranduil's cock presses at his entrance. Elvish terms of endearment spill from Thranduil's lips, and the way that they make Bard's heart swell helps to ease some of the sting--while Thranduil makes up for in length what he lacks in girth, he is certainly larger than three fingers and it always takes a moment for Bard to reacclimate to his size. Thranduil kisses the stress-lines from his brow, holding perfectly still until Bard nods again. Bard drags his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough to taste blood as Thranduil begins to thrust.

They fit together rather sloppily, considering that both are in a half-state of undress. But that doesn't stop Thranduil from sandwiching Bard's legs between their bodies so that he can angle his thrusts  _just so_ and...bright, white stars erupt behind Bard's eyes as the head of Thranduil's cock drags over his prostate. Clumsily, he begins to rock back against him, hands knotting in Thranduil's beautiful hair so tight, it is almost as if he is afraid that, should he let go, his husband will disappear. Thranduil's hands are ghosting over each and every part of his body, setting off tiny fireworks of pleasure in their wake. It doesn't take long for him to reach his peak. He's been painfully aroused for an insanely long time, after all. And yet, his orgasm still comes as a surprise, Thranduil's name falling from his lips like a prayer and his body sagging into the pillows, perfectly sated. He is surprised then, when, just a few seconds later, an equally powerful burst of pleasure tears through him, like he'd reached his peak for the second time. And then he feels Thranduil filling him, and realizes Thranduil had shared the sensation of his orgasm through their bond.

Thranduil pulls off with a wet pop, adjusting himself just enough to ensure he won't fall flat on his face on the way to the bathroom, before disappearing into the ensuite to retrieve a wet washcloth. When he returns, Bard is just barely awake, but he's wearing a dopey, satisfied smile upon his face. "If that's how elves make-up, I propose we fight more often."

Thranduil sighs. "I am sorry, meleth nin. It was wrong of me to assume the worst of my hervenn, to throw out accusations without viable proof."

"Thran, if what you felt was anything near as powerful as what you allowed me to share, then I don't blame you for being suspicious. That was...That was  _wild_. It was like I was in your body, experiencing your orgasm right alongside you.” He says, still feelin the incredible high thrumming through his body. 

“Still...” Thranduil hardly seems convinced, still looking close to tears as he dutifully cleans the seed from his lover’s body. 

“Thran,” Bard takes the larger man’s face in his hands and forces him to meet his eyes. “I love you more than life itself. But if I have to tell you that everything is okay one more bloody time, I swear on everything that I am that I will throttle you.” He says, and while there is no malice in his tone, a shiver chases down the Elvenking’s spine nonetheless.

He kisses the crown of Bard’s head. “If you’re sure...”

”I’m sure.” He says firmly, with absolutely no hesitation. “I love you. All of you. And that includes the adorably jealous bits.”

Thranduil sniffs, “I wouldn’t use such a vulgar term like adorable,” Bard playfully whacks his arm and he cracks a smile, “I love you too, my beautiful hervenn. I love you too.”


End file.
